Not the Suicidal Type
by Velvet Cat
Summary: Series of short Doctor Who drabbles starting with the sentence 'This is the way it was. I don't remember my parents.' People wishing to take up the first sentence challenge are welcomed.


_AN/ Just a little ficlet that was running in my head so I thought that I'd let it out. It's my first fic so I'd love to know what you think, constructive criticism is apprieciated._

_February 19th_

**(''•.¸(''•.¸ ¸.•'´)¸.•'´)  
«´¨'•.¸¸.¤-'Not the Suicidal Type.¸¸.•´¨'»  
(¸.•'´(¸.•'´ ''•.¸)''•.¸)**

This is the way it was. I don't remember my parents. That might surprise you; the idea of my having parents. Consider; I am a complex multi-celled life form. Within certain parameters, genetic diversity is desirable. To put it simply, if we were all exactly the same, anything that could kill one of us would kill all of us. A virus could wipe out all of us. That would be a bad thing.

Parents.

I was born in a factory. Cells from my parents were spliced together, found to be compatible and allowed to grow. I grew in a tank of chemicals and nutrients until maturity and then the machines removed me.

Birth.

After I was born I was placed in here. You might think that this is my prison, it isn't; it liberated me. In here I was free. Consider; I have everything I need to survive. In here I am protected, fed, comfortable and able to travel over any terrain. If I were out there with you, I would be - not helpless - but vulnerable. I would not be able to fulfil my life's work, out there. Once, my life's work would have meant your death.

Time has lost all meaning since I arrived here. It's just been an eternity of agony. Burning heat at the beginning, after the initial impact. I screamed constantly. I am not ashamed of that. I was incapable of feeling shame. I did not even know shame existed, before you touched me. There has been much to be ashamed of, since that touch.

After the screaming stopped, I assessed my situation. My vehicle was damaged, that was obvious. I could barely see out - bad. I could not move it around - bad. My distress call went unanswered - bad. My weapons were not functioning - very bad.

What else could I do? I had enough power to live and maintain my distress call. My vehicle was strong enough to protect me from the primitive people in this place. I waited. Sooner or later my comrades would find me.

They didn't.

I was alone among your people. They moved me around, passed me amongst them - kept me captive. Fully functional, I would have ended them all. My comrades - had they found me - would have found no other life here but me. Instead, you found me.

You heard my screams as _they _tried once more to gain access to me. The primitive tools couldn't penetrate but the vibrations caused the metal to resonate which caused me pain. _They_ were more determined than ever, now that they had heard me speak.

I had not spoken during the eternity of pain. Why should I? I had nothing to say. Then **He** came. The ancient enemy of my kind. Our entire history marred by thwarted plans and desperate set backs, caused by **Him**. My every instinct impelling me to kill, to speak the word and to kill. To be the one acclaimed by all my race for ridding them of **Him**.

Vanity. I know how that feels too, through you. How vain I was in that instant to think that I could be the one. In my weakened state I couldn't kill anything and certainly not _**Him**_. I caused **Him** fear, though. I carry a small amount of pride with me to the end of my days: _I_ caused **Him** to feel fear. None of us knew that **He **_could_ feel fear. I will never be able to pass on the secret.

I realize now that **He **brought _you_. You, without any knowledge of my kind; you, with no fear of me. You wanted to help me and to begin with, you did. Your biology, subtly changed by your time with **Him**, your touch gave me what I needed. Your DNA infusing me with new strength to break my bonds, replenish my power supply and kill all who stood against me.

Glorious killing.

Then there was you. In the brief time you had known me, you had learned to be afraid. No reason for you to; in the time I had known you, _I_ had learned that I could not harm you. You had infected me.

Instead of killing there was talking. I had a conversation with you and, in spite of the killing I had done, you still wanted to help me. Your humanity is inside me, like a disease and as it spreads its poison throughout my brain, I begin to understand. You feel pity and compassion for me and I hate myself for what I have done and what I have become.

In a shaft of sunlight, I open the door of my vehicle for the first time in my life. Surely, now, you will feel revulsion as you gaze at my naked form. When I see that on your face, I feel sure I will be able to destroy you. I watch you but it doesn't happen. Then **He **comes.

**He** is armed. The weapon is not primitive, it could have hurt me before I opened the door, now, it would kill me. I hope, I actually _hope _that he will kill me. Just one more death at **His** hands, forgotten by everyone, no one ever knowing of my shame. No one ever knowing what I have become.

You stop **Him**.

**He** is the definition of unstoppable and yet you stop **Him**. You stand between us, so **He **would have to kill you first. You don't fear **Him **as my kind do. You talk and **He **agrees not to kill me. But I want death. I need it. I cannot live _contaminated _in this way.

I am capable of self termination, but only if ordered by a superior. I cannot make the choice myself. Even in my wretched state, my survival instinct is too strong.

Maybe if I talk to you.

I have all this in my head. I want to tell you, to speak these words, to let you understand me. If you can know all this, I can die happy.

I don't deserve that.

So I don't try to tell you, I just ask you, Rose Tyler, to order me to die. To let me speak the word 'exterminate', for the last time.

And you do.


End file.
